Infected
by Thelaia Leone
Summary: Sometimes, there are no right choices. Sometimes, there is no time. And sometimes, you're simply in the wrong time. SXS. Content warning: angst, lemon.


I do not own Squall Leonhart, Seifer Almasy or Final Fantasy VIII. They are the property of Squaresoft, or Squeenix, as they call themselves these days. Incidentally, if I did own Squall Leonhart, I would probably never leave the house.

**Prologue**

The air was cold, clammy. Clouds above were threatening rain as they pulsated, bruised and purple. In the distance, the faint growl of thunder could be heard, not loud enough to inspire fear, but just loud enough to electrify the tiny hairs up and down Squall's arms. Prickly goosebumps pressed against the lining of his jacket as he breathed in deeply, almost tasting the power of the oncoming storm. Long before he had been old enough to understand his namesake, Squall Leonhart had watched every storm wide-eyed from his bed, wishing to feel that rain, that energy, that power against his skin. He smiled imperceptibly. There was no way that he could lose this sparring match. Thunder crackled. Even the cosmos were on his side.

He looked towards his destination, seeing the figure of his rival, Seifer Almasy, outlined against the cliff edge. Even from a distance, Squall could see the arrogance in Seifer's posture and he needed no visual confirmation to assure him that Seifer was smirking egotistically, gunblade in hand and chin raised just a little too defiantly. Inadvertently, Squall's brow furrowed and he shook his head so that more of his dishevelled silver-brown hair covered his face, masking any slight trace of emotion that may have flickered across it.

Seifer's eyes narrowed as he watched Squall perform that familiar action. Instantly, a familiar sensation coursed through his veins, a desire to put Squall in his place, to defeat him. Squall was the only other gunblader at Balamb Garden and frequently praised for his skill and excellence. Seifer snorted derisively. Clearly a shy, retiring wallflower like Squall needed that encouragement. Seifer tightened his grip on his gunblade, and stepped backwards, making a conscious effort to appear relaxed and at ease. Conversely, Squall's body was taut with tension, his eyes focused and distant and his mouth drawn into a straight line. All trace of his previous joy at the elements was gone and in its place was a mask of icy determination.

"Alright then Squally-boy" drawled Seifer, a frigid scowl setting across Squall's delicate features, "let's fucking dance."

Squall drew back his right leg and lowered his centre of gravity, settling into a comfortable and practised fighting stance. Seifer took this opportunity to lunge forward and strike at Squall, chancing an early hit. But Squall was steady, balanced, and he easily parried Seifer's strike. The two locked eyes, and immediately there was a shift in intensity. Squall shook his hair out of his eyes now as they began trading blows, needing to better see his opponent. Seifer's trademark smirk could not disguise the charge that lit up his eyes, a heady mixture of adrenaline and fear. He would not lose. He could not. Muscles tightening, again he made a heavy lunge for the lithe brunet. Squall dodged the attack, stepping lightly to the side and using the force of Seifer's attack to throw the larger blonde off balance. Moving quickly, he raised his gunblade and brought it down in a precise slicing motion, which Seifer deflected with a combination of luck and brute force. Seifer was easily the stronger of the two but Squall was faster, cleaner and more precise, and they both knew it. Angered by Squall's skilled composure, Seifer intensified his eye contact, seeking to elicit an emotional response from Squall that might culminate in a mistake. But Squall's eyes remained icy, his features set. His pearlescent skin looked hard, as though it would be cold to the touch and his neat footwork allowed him to sidestep a vicious flurry of attacks. Moving deftly, he struck a glancing blow across Seifer's shoulder, not hard enough to cause injury, but definitely hard enough to hurt. His features remained impassive but a stormy glint crept into his eyes and Seifer swore and stepped back to avoid being struck again.

Furious at allowing himself to be hit, Seifer took a few steps back from his opponent and Squall did the same. Eyes locking once more, the two ran at each other, Seifer fuelled by rage and Squall by the satisfaction of having enraged his rival. Their gunblades met with a vociferous reverberation, once, twice and again, then Squall gave into his bloodlust and swung for Seifer with full force. Seifer dodged the attack, grinning as Squall's composure waned and the two ran at each other again, furiously trading blows, their sparring match escalating into something much more serious, much more deadly. Again and again Seifer swung for Squall, and again he shifted and retaliated. Straightening up, Seifer moved backwards, instigating another run up for the duelists. Squall responded, gritting his teeth as he ran his gunblade along the floor to end the fight with his favourite finishing move. But Seifer raised his free hand instead, and without warning unleashed a fire spell at Squall, who was knocked backwards and to the floor, winded. He looked up just in time to see Seifer running towards him, eyes on fire, as he lifted his gunblade and sliced down, directly across the centre of Squall's face.

Squall felt a numbness, then a tingling sensation, and then the trickling fury of pain as blood spattered upon the ground before him, running wet and warm down his face. All composure lost, Squall pushed himself up from the floor and flung himself at Seifer, slicing upwards with his blade to inflict a mirrored wound across the smug blonde's face. Seifer staggered back, gasping in pain, and he brought a hand to his face to wipe the blood from his eyes. Spitting an expletive, he moved towards Squall, serious and threatening now, all the earlier competition replaced with something heavier, darker. Squall felt fear ripple through him and steeled himself, tightening his grip on the gunblade's hilt. Seifer looked down at Squall, taking in his unreadable expression, his slate grey eyes, the way he stood, body tense enough to snap. He watched the blood trickle down his face, violently bright against the pale skin. He watched entranced as it traced the curve of his cheekbone, his nose, his defined lips.

Squall felt terrified. But he also knew that he would kill Seifer before he allowed himself to be killed, if it came to that. He didn't let himself breathe, lest it weaken his resolve. He simply stood there in the intense scrutiny of the taller man's gaze. He could feel Seifer's breath coming hard against his cheek, but knew it would show weakness to step back. He would not apologise for his actions and he would not be intimidated. So he stood.

Seifer could feel the pain intensifying as the adrenaline began to leave his body. A throbbing ache was beginning behind his eyes and he could feel blood drying around his mouth. Still he stared at Squall, looking for an apology, a weakness, something. Without warning, without even realising what he was going to do, Seifer found himself kissing Squall. He entwined his fingers in Squall's hair and pulled, kissing him intensely, desperately. He felt Squall give a tiny gasp and his whole body flushed with desire. The scent of Squall, of leather and fighting and blood, was invading him, infecting him, driving him wild. He could feel the blood running down Squall's face, and found himself relishing its metallic tang, revelling in the taste of blood and Squall. Indulgent and sorrowful. And Squall was kissing him back furiously, tasting him, savouring him. Seifer bit down gently on Squall's bottom lip and felt him gasp again, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body. Giving in to desire, he dropped his gunblade so that he could hold Squall and pull him closer. He needed him much, much closer.

The gunblade hit the ground and fired with an almighty crack, causing Squall and Seifer to leap apart in alarm. They stood frozen for a fraction of a second, just looking at each other. Then Squall bolted, running faster than he even knew he could, away from the confusion, away from Seifer, away from himself. He ran so fast that he couldn't breathe, rising pain bolting through his oxygen starved lungs. Glancing up, he saw the comforting familiarity of Balamb Garden rising before him, its luminescent halos reaching towards the sky. He felt a dull relief at the idea of his dorm with its locked door and though he felt the beginnings of a stitch pinching at his side, he continued to run.

Sweat and blood stung his eyes, blurring his vision so that he couldn't see. He lifted his hand to wipe as he ran, not trusting himself to stop.

'What just happened? Did I… Why…? What does it mean…?'

He shook his head to clear the thoughts, aware that he was in no position to understand them. Wiping at his face again, he realised that he was crying. He breathed in sharply, forcing the tears to cease, and focused on the ground before him steady and dependable beneath his boots.

Then without warning, pain. Pain slicing through him, ripping through him like the serrated edge of a knife. He stumbled, gasping, trying desperately to catch his breath. His hands scrabbled at his face trying to wipe the stinging mess from his eyes. 'A spell', he realised. 'I'm being attacked and they've cast a spell.' Panicking, still unable to see, Squall swung his gunblade wildly, hoping to land a hit. He swiped furiously and uselessly through the air a few times, searching for the reassuring reverberation of gunblade against enemy flesh. He felt nothing but the slight resistance of blade against cold air. Then came the pain again, wrenching him asunder, forcing him to drop to his knees. Then blackness. Then nothing.

Seifer watched Squall's wild retreat in a haze of shock and dismay, before his brain caught up with him and forced him to question his actions. 'What was I doing? What the fuck was I thinking?' "Shit", he swore darkly. It echoed across the cliffside, loud and futile. He picked up his gunblade and shrugged his shoulders, shaking his body back into its usual intimidating posture and began the trek back to Garden. He tried to empty his brain but thoughts rattled round in his head. 'Fucking ice princess, what was up with that stunt? Probably trying to phase me before the exam. Fucking asshole. Well forget him. He's worthless, he means nothing to me.' Now walking at quite a pace, Seifer was seriously pissed off. 'Fuck it', he thought. "Fuck it", he said out loud, an attempt at irreverent brashness.

Seifer had almost convinced himself into feeling normal, striding towards garden with his shoulders back and head held high. Nothing prepared him for the sight of Squall, lying defeated on the floor, a bloody tangle of limbs and matted hair. Seifer had the jump on the monster that was laying into Squall's still body and lifted his gunblade, striking through it viciously, once, twice, thrice for good measure, then pulled the trigger at just the right moment to cause it to be blown apart.

Taking a few steps back, he considered his options. The decent thing to do would be to cast a healing spell, but that would result in one awake Leonhart. Recalling the look that Squall had given him before he ran, Seifer knew with absolute certainty that he could not make himself do the decent thing.

He stood there, staring down at Squall, who he had never seen looking more fragile. But the thought of carrying him back to Garden, the thought of Squall stirring and waking in his arms…he couldn't. "Someone will come for you Leonhart", he muttered. He pushed all thoughts of Squall out of his head and strode purposefully towards Garden. He didn't look back.


End file.
